


Family Identity

by Scribblesinink (Scribbler)



Category: Sons of Anarchy
Genre: F/M, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-22
Updated: 2011-04-22
Packaged: 2017-10-18 12:19:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/188826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scribbler/pseuds/Scribblesinink
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tara tries to figure out what Jax really wants from her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Family Identity

**Author's Note:**

> Missing scene from the start of 3.05 _Turning And Turning_. Thanks to Tanaqui for betaing.

“She’s resting now.” Tara shifted her gaze around the group hanging onto her every word, before settling on Clay as her focus. “We’ll monitor, of course, but she should be okay.” Medically speaking, at least. The Feds had already descended upon St. Thomas and chained Gemma to her bed.

“Thanks, Doc.” Clay gave her a nod. “Can I…?” He dipped his head in the direction of Gemma’s room, where a gray-suited agent was standing next to the door.

“Yeah. Sure.” She moved aside to let him pass. As Clay thumped down the hall, boots heavy against the linoleum, she hesitated a heartbeat. “I should—.” She waved vaguely, indicating she meant her job, and started to walk away.

She sensed Jax behind her a heartbeat later.

“Talk to you for a sec?”

Tara closed her eyes briefly. She wasn’t sure she wanted to have this conversation _now_. But she also knew she had to have it some time. And perhaps Jax was finally ready to listen to reason. She could deal with the chauvinism; that was who they were. But the way he’d tried to cut her out: _We’re not your family._ Those words had left a hole in her chest.

She cleared her throat. “Sure.”

The small chapel was quiet and deserted at this time of night. Tara took a seat on a pew near the door. She watched as Jax paced to the front before he turned, hands deep in the pockets of his jeans, shoulders hunched high as he regarded her solemnly.

 _What do you want of me, Jax?_

She didn’t ask the question out loud but waited for him to speak instead. It took him a long time: longer than she could endure under that blue-eyed gaze. She shifted. “You said you didn’t blame me for Abel….”

“I don’t.” He gave a curt shake of the head as if to underscore his denial.

“But you wonder.” It wasn’t a question.

He blew out a breath, shoulders slumping a little. He looked away. “Sometimes.”

Tara nodded in understanding. _Had_ there been something she could’ve done to stop Cameron Hayes? The question had been haunting her ever since that afternoon, though she couldn’t—wouldn’t—tell Jax that.

If she closed her eyes, she could still see it, clear as day: the flash of the knife as Hayes leaned down over Abel. She’d thought he was going to kill the baby right there and then. She and Half-Sack—Kip—both: it was what spurred them into motion, despite the gun. Kip had been faster, and gotten himself killed for his trouble.

She suppressed a shudder. If not for him, _she’d_ have been the one lying there on the kitchen floor with a knife sticking out of her belly. Watching Kip’s eyes glaze over, all she’d been able to think about was the baby inside her, barely more than a clump of cells at this point, but a baby nonetheless. She’d already given up one. She didn’t regret the decision she’d made back in Chicago, but she wasn’t about to lose this one as well. Not Jax’s child.

“But that’s not the point.”

She realized Jax was still talking, and she pulled herself back to the present with an effort. “It’s not?”

“No. You—.” He settled himself against the back of one of the pews further up front, curling his hands around the wood on either side of him. “When you came back a doctor….” He huffed a quiet laugh. “Made me proud.”

Tara cocked her head, surprised.

“You’d made a life for yourself. Tara, you got _out_.”

She chewed her lip thoughtfully. She knew what he meant. Out of Charming. Out of whatever they’d been heading into, back in high school.

“But ever since we—.” He flapped a hand, and she almost smiled: _Whatever this is._

Jax continued, “Tara, I don’t like what it does to you. This thing with your boss…. It’s not what I wanted. I don’t want you to be ducking bullets on the sidewalks, or watching someone get stabbed in the kitchen.” He pulled in a breath and pushed back to his feet, looking more vulnerable than she’d seen him since those first couple days after Abel was gone, before the club helped him get himself together. “It’s not I don’t want you to be my old lady. I want you to be _you_.”

A noise escaped her, and she didn’t know if it was supposed to be a laugh or a sob or something else. Once, being herself would’ve been easy: healer, mother, old lady. But now…?

Her eyes stung, as they did far too often and far too easily these days. She blinked the tears back. “I don’t even know who I am anymore,” she whispered. Not tough enough to be an old lady; not brave enough to be a mother; and, judging by what happened in surgery the other day, not strong enough to be a healer….

She heard the door open behind her. Twisting round, she saw one of the nurses stick her head in. “Dr. Knowles? They need you.”

Tara dipped her head to let the nurse know she’d be right there, before turning back to Jax. She glanced up at him, this time unable to keep the tears from forming in her eyes. “I want him back, Jax.”

Again, a curt nod. And once upon a time, she knew, she’d have found solace in his arms. But the moment had gone, and Jax had already pulled his grief and anger around him again, armor she didn’t know how to pierce.

“I’ll find him.”

She nodded. She knew he would. And God help the Irish when he did.


End file.
